London Calling
by Elbly
Summary: Pam gets called to England - My entry to the Home Sweet Home contest


**A/N – This is my entry for the Home Sweet Home contest. Thanks to Northman Maille for her brilliant beta'ing skills – and her entertaining mnemonics for helping me get over some of my terrible habits.**

**Disclaimer – all rights belong Charlaine Harris apart from Tabitha, who is mine.**

London Calling

The phone beeped as I pressed the mute button.

Eric was sitting in his favourite booth, holding Sookie's hand below the table; they were silent. The understanding between those two was nauseating, but nothing new. I made my way across the dance floor as the DJ changed tracks, and I smiled at the irony of his choice.

"London calling" I said when I reached them; my face blank and passive.

Eric held Sookie's stare for just a fraction longer than he needed to, then turned to me; the exasperation in his voice untraceable to all but his most intimate acquaintances. "Right band, wrong title."

Sookie sensibly stayed silent; she had seen us bicker too often.

"This is Rock the Casbah." I replied. "And this," I held out the phone, "is London calling."

A smirk crossed Sookie's lips, as Eric took the handset from me and sped to the office. I barely gave the cushion chance to forget it had been squashed before dropping into the space next to her.

"Is it important?" she asked.

I lied as I shook my head. "No, it's just the start of a trip to England for me. By the time Eric returns my ticket will be waiting for collection. I will see you in a week or so my friend." We exchanged nods, and I left for the airport.

=v==v=

As the flight drew closer to England, night time closed around the airplane, pulling me from my death. I had been shipped between connecting flights, unaware of the process, motionless in my casket. Searching the side pockets, the realisation hit me that no one had thought to pack a book for me, so in the final minutes of the journey, I thought over the conversation I had with Eric just a few days earlier.

"It's time I was a grandfather." He said, tossing a file across the desk at me. His face was deadpan, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. Eric held my stare as I blinked at him in disbelief.

"This is, of course, a sick joke. What has Sookie done to annoy you so much that you feel the need to pass it on to me?" My fingers had rested on the file, but it remained on the desk.

"It's business. You know of Tabitha Deville."

Of course I knew of her; owner of Dance with the Deville, Fangs for the Memory, Deville May Care and Tabby Cats, to name just a few of the vampire friendly businesses she had set up and successfully developed into possibly the largest vampiric corporation in the world. She had her fingers in so many pies it was inspirational; clothing lines, bars, restaurants, legal firms, construction, the list went on. What had started in a small corner of England had exploded across Europe and was beginning to take hold here in America.

"You're telling me she's human?"

Eric nodded.

"And she wants to become vampire?"

Again, he nodded.

"And so the sixty four thousand dollar question would be "Why me?"" I trusted Eric, and I knew he would not ask me to do this if it was not important, but he is not always forthcoming with his reasons, and something as important as this deserves more than a finger pointing to a "please bite here" mark.

Eric leaned back in his chair and said "What do you know about English vampire business law?"

"Less than I probably should in this situation, are you going to enlighten me?" I asked, beginning to get uncomfortable in the awareness that not only was Eric serious about this, but that there was some piece to all this that I was missing.

"When the call comes from Maud you will need to be ready to fly. Tabitha will be waiting."

And with that our conversation was over.

The file had contained details of Ms. Deville's businesses, some contact details and an address. There were no pictures, no history, no personal details – nothing. I asked one of the humans to search for images of her or anything else that might give me a hint as to why I had been put in this situation, but there seemed to be nothing to be had.

Putting me into this position was not, as I well knew, something Eric would have taken lightly, but the discomfort of facing such a responsibility left me cold; pardon the pun. There was slight comfort in the knowledge that Ms. Deville was clearly resourceful; a human who had managed to survive successfully running so many businesses for and with vampires, was not one to be waved on by without a second glance. This level of ingenuity and guile could make training the new vampire a frustrating and arduous experience. I did not find it inconceivable that Eric had set this up for his own amusement, although it did seem an extreme way to get a few laughs at my expense.

=v==v=

England used to do one thing particularly well, something I knew could not last forever; the practical car. Compact, functional, well maintained – the U.K. used to be full of sensible little cars, and I was pleased to note that my rental was in this class, albeit made in Germany, or Japan, or somewhere not England. The roads, however, were full of impractical and bullish vehicles driven aggressively at speed, with little or no consideration for other road users. Humans! Always compensating for something...

I had memorised the route earlier in the week. Motorway flowed into motorway as the countryside I had vague memories of flew past my window; parts of it changed, parts unaltered.

Any vampire who survives longer than the average human will have learnt to adapt to the ever changing world. We have no choice; well, we do, we could chose to stagnate and face a final death – not options I particularly like the concept of. The ever changing landscape around us never ceases to fascinate me – the busy little villages I once knew now lie empty; taken over by the military for training, or by rich city dwellers for their "summer retreats", deserted for eleven months of the year, cold and soulless.

Birmingham city centre was deserted by the time I reached it, a little past 11pm, save for the occasional taxi. The lack of revellers was matched by the peculiar lack of places to revel; an oversight I would be discussing with my soon-to-be child. Clearly this city needed some night life.

I stopped the car in an empty taxi rank.

Modern, glass-fronted shops with their unlit displays of clothing, shoes, bags and cell phones, chased one another up and down the high street in a one dimensional race. Lifeless mannequins poised with muted expressions. Glassy grins of gormless models screamed "kill me now" in photograph after photograph; some advertising soft drinks, some, new phone contracts, others, seemingly, nothing at all.

Between two expanses of glass stood a door that was as out of place as a crimson leather choker with a powder blue velour sweat suit. It was old, probably older than me, and almost as perfectly preserved; studded oak with a carved sandstone surround. If I had been in the middle of a human's fantasy about mystical worlds on the other side of a portal, this doorway would have been a perfect choice for such a portal, but here it was, in the middle of a modern city.

I knocked, and the door opened.

=v==v=

"Miss Deville is waiting for you upstairs in the study, Miss Ravenscroft," said the man, holding the door open. He was stocky, mid-forties and very smartly dressed in a perfectly pressed suit and tie. His dark, thick hair was greying at the edges, and his gaze was fixed beyond me in a middle-distance stare.

I remained rooted to the spot and looked down at his outstretched hand, then back to his face. Not once did his eyes meet mine.

"Your keys Miss? I need to move your car," he responded to my unasked question.

His heartbeat was steady, his temperature stable, his breathing slow; nothing suggested I intimidated him. My fangs ran down in frustration, but he did not react.

"Dinner has already been served Miss, however we can find you a snack should you require one before the event." His hand was still outstretched, his carotid artery thumping quietly and calmly under thick pale skin.

A quick glance up at the windows in the floors above suggested escape should be possible, but not guaranteed; improvements to toughening and silvering of glass in recent years had caused the demise of more than one vampire.

I resisted the temptation of his neck and dropped the keys into his unmoving palm.

"Please do come in," he said, as his fingers closed around the plastic and metal in his hand. He nodded at me, before heading to my car.

I was on the first floor before his next heartbeat, and again gave a quick look round for my exits. The carpet was thinning in places, but of high quality, and the mahogany console table, pushed against the wall, with its boxwood marquetry brought back strange memories of my human life, which I pushed aside.

"I won't be keeping you against your will Pamela. The way out is through the door you came in, should you need it," called a voice from behind a door, slightly ajar. "But if you want a good look round, be my guest." The voice was calm; it had a hint of pleasantry to it, but mostly it was hard and instructing. For the first time in my post death existence, I, almost unthinkingly, took direction from a human.

The door opened easily. A large darkwood, leather-inlaid desk commanded the room; behind it sat a very modern swivel chair that was obviously designed for comfort, not style. To the right, stood a tall button-backed, leather, easy chair, it's back to me so that it's occupant could get the most from the tiny fire in the massive grate. A hand reached out to the small table, nestled next to the easy chair, and it picked up the half-full brandy glass.

Casting an eye around the room, several pieces of furniture caught my eye, and pulled little memory muscles that had long since been inactive; a glass cabinet, a small mirror, the chandelier, the grate around the fire.

"You have some of my family's things." I stated.

The sound of her swallowing a small sip of the golden liquid in her glass was followed by the steady and relaxed motion of returning the glass to the table.

"I do," was her only response.

Within the exhalation of her breath, I was in front of her, and as my eyes fell on her face, so an image of me stared back.

"Oh Aunt Pamela! You _do_ look worried."

I lifted her by the neck. Her hands closed around my wrist, and her feet wiggled, but not with the desperate kick of the panicked victim.

"Explain." I commanded and dropped her back in her seat.

She rubbed the red hand-print that encircled her throat, and winced. "Clearly Eric has not filled you in. Wonderful! What a way to start."

The man who had opened the front door to me appeared with a stool, and bag of blood, still warm. Without a word, he positioned the stool beside the fireplace, handed me the blood, and left, bowing to my hostess as he did.

"Well let's get this over with. There's a light-tight space behind that middle bookshelf. Peakes has put eight pints of blood in a small refrigeration unit in there, and he will lock that door before morning." She said, pointing to the door to the corridor. "Once you've signed the papers on my desk you can drain me dry."

I continued to hold the blood bag on my lap, and stared at Tabitha, as though I could squeeze answers from her with the weight of my glare alone. Her resemblance to me was uncanny, save for the crow's feet and laughter-lines. Her hair colour was grey and her eyes matched, but apart from those small differences, she was what I would have been, had I survived long enough as a human.

"And if I refuse?" I asked.

"You won't. If Eric, it is Eric isn't it? I'm not getting your master confused with someone else am I?"

"No. He's called Eric, these days."

"Oh good. Well if Eric hasn't already commanded it, I think a quick glance at the paper work will persuade you." Tabitha said. Her face held a cat-like smile that was disgustingly sure of itself.

I had the documents in my hand and was sat back on the stool before she would have noticed me move. My eyes glanced over it and should I have been a breather I might have held my breath at the details. Instead I allowed my shock to be visible with a few blinks interspersing my blank stare.

"We split it three ways of course, you, Eric and me. I believe Maud gets a finder's fee, money grabbing harpy that she is, but I understand my solicitors managed to put the thumbscrews on, so she's only taking half a percent." Tabitha said. She had begun to play with her fingernails. "English vampire law is fascinating, wrote some of it myself, but one only gets to negate taxes if the person turning one is family. And hence..." she motioned towards me.

"You seem convinced I'll do it." I squished the blood bag between my fingers, feeling the liquid slip from one side to the other.

"It's a lot of money." She said.

"It is a lot of money." I replied. I looked over to the window; the heavy, dark green, velvet curtains were pulled not-quite-to, and the muffled glow of the street lights pushed its way between the gap. "Money isn't everything."

Tabitha rolled the brandy glass between her hands to warm the liquid and took a considered sip. Her eyes tried to bore into me to ascertain her success.

"It is a huge commitment. Let me consider it. I will return tomorrow. Same time?" I asked. Lifting the blood bag to my lips, a fang pierced the plastic and the blood oozed down my throat as I sucked on the pre-packaged meal.

She nodded her agreement. "Very well, same time tomorrow." Tabitha rang a small hand bell that had been resting on the table. "Peakes will show you to your car."

The man appeared at the door, he carried a small yellow plastic container. He opened the box and indicated for me to put the bag inside. "Health and safety Miss, one can't be too careful." He said, as he closed the lid. His heart rate and breathing were both steady, as before, but I could sense an agitation that had not been obvious before.

"Good night Aunt Pamela. Do consider my proposition." She drowned the remains of her brandy, then stared into the fire.

Peakes walked with me to the front door, opened it, and gave a slight bow. "Good night Miss." He allowed his eyes to meet mine.

I gave a slight smile. "Good night Peakes. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

He handed me my keys, and indicated the direction of the car park. Within seconds I was in the car.

I drove to the airport, and took the first flight home.

=v==v=

Two evenings later, I walked into the office of Fangtasia. Eric was sitting at his desk, which was piled high with paperwork. He didn't look up, but pointed to a newspaper that was sat on the edge of the chaos. It was folded open, a circle drawn round a small headline: _English Entrepreneur Murdered. Butler Under Arrest._

"My deepest sympathies. Were you close?" Eric asked, his face and tone blank with sarcasm.

I made a quiet "humph" and smiled at him. "Eric, next time the DJ plays any Clash, tell him to put on "Remote Control""

He looked up and for a brief moment the corners of his mouth twitched. "How apt," he said, before returning his attention to his papers while I made a note to speak to my lawyer about my inheritance.

=v==v=

**A/N - All three songs mentioned are by The Clash (British punk band)**

**For the record, the door I mention, the old wooden door with sandstone surround? Well it exists, although I believe it leads to offices, not someone's home. There are a lot of old buildings in Birmingham (UK) but they tend to go unnoticed because you have to look up to see the detail. Birmingham is a strange mix of very old and hideous post-war 1960's monstrosities, although the council are trying to add a few new monsters to the mix (look up the selfridges building... it's pretty unique). Birmingham city centre is oddly devoid of night-life. There are a few pubs and restaurants, but the council's town planners in their _infinite wisdom_ decided to try to put all clubs and a lot of other social venues in one place, away from the very centre. As such, walk through the city at night and it's a very eerie place.**

**Pam mentions that villages had been taken over by the military for training - it's true, a couple were taken over around WW2 I believe, the people who lived there never got to return. I know that at least one church gets to hold a service once a year in one of these villages, but I can't remember which one/where/etc. Sorry for being vague. As for homes being bought up as holiday homes - again, sad but true. A lot of village communities are no longer what they were due to those with money owning second homes.**


End file.
